


The Hair on His Chinny Chin Chin

by grapehyasynth



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Smut, The Age of the Beard, we are blessed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 04:52:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7208540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grapehyasynth/pseuds/grapehyasynth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma, it turns out, is rather a fan of Fitz's increased facial hair. Inspired by the copious and gorgeous pictures of Iain with a beard. </p><p>*Accepting better titles. Someone help me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hair on His Chinny Chin Chin

**Author's Note:**

> I never quite know the line between an M rating and an E rating but I thought I'd be safe with E!

“Oh, but this is so much worse than it ever used to be, Bobbi,” Jemma whimpers, holding the phone to her ear with one shoulder as she struggles to carry all the groceries through the door. “Fitz has been gone two months now, and there’s only so much I can do on my own–”

“What exactly do you mean by ‘it’s worse’?” Bobbi chuckles.

“I – oh, this is so embarrassing,” Jemma huffs, brushing back some stray hairs. But she’s already started and Bobbi already knows more about her relationship with Fitz than most anyone. “When he’s her, I can focus for the most part. There’ll be the odd daydream about kissing him or waking up beside him, though at least when he’s home we can make them a reality – but this… I have the most wanton fantasies constantly–”

“You’re right, maybe I don’t want to hear this,” Bobbi cuts in. There’s a beat of silence, then she says eagerly, “But go on. You obviously need to get this off your chest.”

“They’re different every time,” Jemma gushes, torn between guilt and a powerful thrill. “Because if there’s anything I know about sex with Fitz, it’s that the combinations are endless –”

“So they’re sex fantasies?”

“Yes!” Jemma says impatiently. “What did you think I meant?”

“Just wanted to check,” Bobbi teases. “Never know with you scientists.”

“Sometimes he’s got me pressed against a wall, sometimes I’m, you know, riding him, but lately, all I can think about is – is his–” She lowers her voice dramatically and whispers scandalously, “All I can think about is his cock down my throat.”

Bobbi’s laughter is so loud Jemma holds the phone away from her ear, but it is a strangled yelp of “Fuck!” that makes her drop it altogether.

Fitz hadn’t meant to startle Jemma. Surprise her, certainly – after two months away on mission, he’s been quite looking forward to seeing her face when he shows up weeks early.

Except she’s late getting back from work, so he leaves his bags in her room and stretches out on the couch. Nothing on TV can hold his attention, likely because of the jetlag, so he flicks it off again and falls asleep within minutes.

He wakes to Jemma talking on the phone seconds before she opens the door. He whizzes through every possibility – he could strip and stand proudly before her, he could scamper to her bedroom and wait for her there – but the angle of the couch shields him from the door, so he’s hidden well enough here. So he waits.

He’s soon blushing bright red as he listens to one side of her conversation. He’s so distracted by what she’s saying that he doesn’t even bother to take issue with the fact that she’s telling all this to Bobbi, their mutual friend.

And then she mentions deepthroating him.

“Fuck!” he swears before he can stop himself.

There’s a gasp from behind him and he hears her phone clatter to the floor.

He grimaces. This is a less-than-ideal return.

Finally, he pushes himself up, his head emerging slowly over the back of the couch.

Jemma gasps again when she sees him. “Fitz!”

“Hey,” he says sheepishly, clambering off the couch properly and working his way around it.

“You’re back early!” she squeaks, stooping for her phone and ending the call.

“Shouldn’t you tell Bobbi goodbye?”

“You heard all that, then?” she demands. Her cheeks are as red as his feel but she meets his eyes defiantly.

“Yes.” He has to clear his throat. “Including the bit about my – in your –”

“You’ve got a beard!” she blurts out, nervously tucking her hair behind her ears.

“Yes,” he repeats, reaching up to touch it self-consciously. “Grew it out for the cover. Mack told me it would make me look older.”

“I don’t know about older,” Jemma says in a strange voice, her chest noticeably heaving against her tight workout top. “But it does make you look like – like–”

“Like someone whose cock you want in your mouth?” he breathes.

He wouldn’t believe it if he didn’t see it for himself, but at his words Jemma’s hand immediately and apparently involuntarily flies between her own legs and she presses up with her fingers, gasping slightly.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Jemma,” he growls, and launches himself at her.

If she wants him to push her up against a wall, well, he’s always gone out of his way to please her.

 

 

Jemma isn’t sure how they went from discussing her sucking Fitz’s dick to this, but she’s not about to interrupt him.

Jemma imagined a lot of things when she first saw Fitz’s new, lush beard. She wondered how soft it is, whether it would burn her cheeks when they kiss, if he’d let her braid it or do other silly things with it.

But this is entirely unexpected.

Fitz lifts his head from between her legs, her own dark curly hair catching slightly on his beard as he pulls away. Her wetness glistens in the hair around his lips and she thinks – with a thrilling pang so fierce it actually lifts her hips off the bed – that so long as he keeps the beard, she’ll never be able to see him drink a beverage without being wildly turned on in memory of this moment.

“Prognosis?” Fitz grins wolfishly at her, licking his lips. The motion sends another tremor of almost-nearly-there through her.

The beard is a significant and unfair advantage. Whether he is kissing her face or nibbling her pulse point or lavishing her breasts with attention or working his way down his stomach, the bristly-soft curls set the nerves tingling on her skin, making her more sensitive to his touch when it comes and more desperate for it when it doesn’t.

But she doesn’t trust herself to be able to verbalize all that, so she just pushes his head back down – the curls are back too, lord have mercy – and moans, “Don’t stop.”

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your fantasy, Dr. Simmons,” he murmurs against her, brushing her inner thighs with the stubble of his cheeks. So unfair, she thinks, her eyes rolling back in her head.

Jemma will deny that it is the thought of sucking Fitz off that sends her over the edge. She’s never been shy about telling him that his penis is one of her favorite physical aspects of his. But right now, the beard is a serious contender.

**Author's Note:**

> SORRY NOT SORRY
> 
> Find me on Tumblr! Grapehyasynth!! You can yell at me or congratulate me! :P


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